


that time of year

by icymapletree



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Gen, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Roger Harrington Is a Good Bro, Sick Peter Parker, Sickfic, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Vomiting, Whump, peter parker wants to take his midterms, unlike the rest of us
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:35:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21924505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icymapletree/pseuds/icymapletree
Summary: Peter has decided that midterms are awful… and the absolute worst time for a villain to attack.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 150





	that time of year

**Author's Note:**

> midterms are finally over and i'm really projecting on peter here lol

“Today I will take over the world!” a figure made of swarming insects shouts out in a thick German accent. Spider-Man swings a little closer to him and notices that the insects are all bees.

“I think you’re gonna have to try a little harder than this, bud!” he yells, flying around a corner. “Robbing a bank, huh? I guess everyone has to start somewhere if they want to ‘take over ze vorld!’”

“Today the bank, tomorrow the world, silly insect!” the bee-man says. He sends a group of bees towards Spidey, and they buzz around his face. He swats at them, but they are persistent.

“Not an insect, but nice try.” Spidey shoots a web at the creature, to no avail. “Do bees even like the cold? It’s pretty chilly out here.”

“Swarm is not affected by cold!”

“Oh, so your name is Swarm? Or are you referring to _your_ swarm?”

“I am Swarm!”

Spidey shrugs as he swings near the villain. “Not the worst supervillain name I’ve ever heard.” He leads Swarm away from the people on the streetsー most likely tourists, considering that they have their phones out to film. Spidey is having a rough time with ‘Swarm,’ but he keeps up their banter until Karen interrupts their rendezvous.

“ _Peter, I recommend calling for help._ ”

“Thanks Kar,” Peter fires another web, “But I think I got this.” A bee stings Peter and he yelps. 

Peter fights the foe, attempting a roundhouse kick, but is met with multiple bee stings. He sighs. “Actually, you might wanna call Sam.”

Karen does as he asks, and Sam arrives quickly, swooping overhead. “Heads up!” the man yells, tossing something down to Peter.

The back of his neck tingles, and Peter catches a spray bottle with one hand, the other still extended in the arc of his swing. “Thanks man! What is it?”

“Straight up ethyl chlorideー Nat told me this worked when she faced him a while back. It’s a pesticide.”

“Awesome!” Peter gets the bottle ready in his hand, spraying as he swings by.

“ _You have an incoming call from: Tony Stark._ ”

“Ignore it, Kar. Tell him I’ll talk to him later.”

“ _Will do._ ”

The two of them continue their dance with Swarm, Sam with his swooping flight and Peter with his graceful acrobatics. They decided they had done their job when the bees begin to fly away. Peter is covered in bee stings, but that doesn’t stop him from high fiving Sam as they head their separate ways.

* * *

Peter dials Tony’s phone number, shaking out his hair that was wet from his shower. He is rubbing hydrocortisone all over his bee stings, but they had mostly healed already.

“ _Hey kid, what’s crackalackin?_ ”

“Ew, that’s such a dad thing to say.”

“ _What’s wrong with that? I’ve got a beautiful daughter and an awesome kid that I fought a mad space titan for… I think I can do ‘dad stuff’ now._ ” Peter rolls his eyes. “ _How are midterms, kid?_ ”

“Midterms are even worse than finals, Mister Stark,” Peter groans into the phone while he twirls around in his desk chair. 

“ _It wasn’t that way when I was a kid..._ ” 

“You were like, thirteen when you were in highschool. I don’t trust your memory for that stuff.”

Tony sputters, and Peter can imagine the way he flippantly waves his hand when someone is over exaggerating but yet still wrong. “ _I was eleven, for your information._ ”

“That’s even worse!” Peter smiles as his foot stomps down to stop the spinning chair.

“ _Sure it is,_ ” Tony says, the eyeroll in his tone palpable, “ _You’re staying warm though, right?_ ”

“Yeah, yeah,” he hums, “We don’t want a repeat of last year.”

“ _No hibernating for Mister Parker._ ”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

“ _Don’t give me angst,_ ” Tony exasperatedly sighs and shakes his head as Peter laughs. “ _Well, I’ll let you go. Good luck on midterms, kiddo. Go study._ ”

“Thanks, Mister Stark. See you soon.”

As soon as they hang up, Peter begins a long night of studying. He studies until his brain feels like slush and his movements are lethargic. Hoping to soothe his throbbing headache, Peter swallows a couple super-Advil before letting heavy sleep take him over.

* * *

Peter wakes up the next morning, head still pounding. The weight of his sheets are too much and too warm, yet he is too cold. 

He presses his eyes shut, groaning, and wills himself to emerge from the cocoon of his blankets. When he reaches for the doorknob and turns, he can hear the clicking of the mechanism and feel every imperfection in the metal.

Everything is so loud, so fine tuned, that Peter almost doesn’t notice his cramping stomach or stuffy nose. He sniffs and heads out into the hallway, his senses becoming sharper in the open air.

His footsteps are too loud, the way his socks thud on the wooden boards. Hands in the pockets of his Hello Kitty pajama pants, he can hear the downstairs neighbors arguing, the sound reverberating through his skull.

“Good morning, Peter,” May greets, looking up from the breakfast she was preparing.

Peter flinches at the sound of her voice, and May rushes over. She abandons the toast she was spreading butter on to press a cool hand on his forehead. Peter allows himself to lean into her touch, if only for just a second.

“Sweetie, you’re burning up.”

“‘M fine.”

He goes over a picks up the plate of toast, his hands shaking. May, as she bites her lip in thought, looks at him hesitantly. “You should stay home from school, honey.”

“‘M fine,” he repeats, his shaking hands jostling the plate of food.

May sighs. “Let me get the thermometer. If you’re above one hundred, you’re staying home.”

Hands still shaking, Peter groans in agreement. When May turns the corner, his shaking hands become too much. A shatter echoes through the kitchen, which is now covered in broken ceramic. His aunt, who has worry etched in the lines of her face, runs back into the room. 

“Oh, Peter,” she sighs, “You really need to go back to bed.” 

Peter’s teeth chatter in agreement, his whole body shuddering. Concern gleams in May’s eyes, but Peter’s eyes pleaded with May. “I only have my APUSH exam today,” he reminds her, “I’ll be home after the two-hour exam period. Promise. No patrol.”

May considers it as Peter sniffles and reaches for the broom. His aunt holds out a hand. “I’ll sweep it up, you get ready for school.”

“No, no, it’s my messー”

“If you argue with me, you don’t get to go to school.” Peter smiles briefly and heads back to his room as May calls after him, “If this is another freaky spider thing, I’m calling Cho regardless of how ‘fine’ you feel!’

* * *

“Are you alright, dude?” Ned keeps asking, regardless of what Peter tells him. “‘Cause you look really pale.”

“I’m fine, Ned.”

“I remember the last time that you said that, you had taken a rhino horn to the crotch. So, I don’t really trust you.”

“That was one time,” Peter protests, groaning. Under the irritating fluorescent lights, he presses his eyes shut tight and runs his fingers through his hair. 

“You also said that about getting electrocuted, man.”

Temporarily letting himself forget how disgusting school furniture is, he sighs and lays his head down on the desk. “It’s not my fault Electro was having a particularly evil week.”

“It actually kind of is your job toー”

Mister Harrington, who had just walked into the classroom, interrupts Ned’s comment. “So, uh, since your history teacher is sick, I will be monitoring your test. Please get your chromebooks out before I get infected by whatever she hadー” he glances at Peter, “Or whatever Peter has.”

Flash snickers from across the room.

Clapping his hands together, Mister Harrington purses his lips. “You guys can just do whatever it is that Miss Wilson would expect of you. I don’t really care, just keep it quiet.”

Peter nods to himself and pulls his computer out. This test would be difficult, especially since he is still nursing a headache. His hands shaking, he opened the testing site and began the midterm. 

_Greenburg’s argument most differs from Hietala’s in the way that…_

The letters won’'t stop moving, the glow from the computer creates a fuzz around each sentence.

_A. Race was a defining factor in the tensions…_

He shakes his head, tries to rid himself of the nausea that is slowly building. He rereads the last line, trying to force the words to comprehend.

_...in the tensions leading up to the Mexican-American War._

He bites his lip and closes his fist. That one didn’t make much sense. Shrugging, he moved onto choice ‘B.’

_B. Pioneers, not politicians…_

He couldn’t even bring himself to finish the answer, deciding that neither author even talked about politicians or pioneers. Betty, who sat in the back of the classroom, coughed, causing Peter to flinch and then his stomach to lurch. He swallows back the queasy feeling.

_C. Most Americans believed that Mexicans in the new territories could not…_

What was that word? Peter squints and leans in closer to the screen.

_...assimilate._

Tony taught him that word when they were studying… but he couldn’t remember what it meant. He rubs his eyes, ignoring the concerned look Ned is giving him. Finally, he clicks on answer ‘C,’ deciding that if it isn’t the right answer then it is good enough. 

Peter blinks slowly as he moves onto the next question. Nausea quickly stirs up in his stomach again, the morning’s breakfast rising up in his throat. He’d be fine, he decided, there was only an hour and forty five minutes left in the test.

* * *

Peter fishes his head out of the toilet as he reaches for the flush handle. The floor is grimy, each bit of dirt digs into his skin. 

Mister Harrington raps his knuckles on the door to the stall. “Peter? Do you need anything?”

“No,” he says, the sound echoing off of the bowl.

“Are you gonna throw up again?”

Peter thinks about it for a moment. “Not for awhile I don’t think.”

“Do you want to go to the clinic?”

This time he stays silent.

“Peter, I’m sure Miss Wilson would give you an extension.”

He hums and starts to stand up, but his dizziness causes him to stumble.

Mister Harrington hears his stumble and grimaces. “Can I open the door?”

Peter hums again, reaching up to unlock the stall. He is hoisted up by his shoulders and Mister Harrington guides him to the office.

There is a Christmas tree in the clinic that mocks Peter and his inability to be jolly during the holiday season. It’s still too bright in the clinic, even if the lights are dimmer, but he absolutely can’t wait to get home.

The clinic aid is talking to the secretary in the other room, having already reached out to May. It wouldn't be May who picks him up thoughー she’s never able to get off work and this was no exception. That meant Happy was en route.

He needed to focus each of his senses to feel betterーthe acrid aftertaste in his mouth, the roughness of the thin sheet on the cot, the smell of Clorox wipes, the cracks in the paint. That leaves him without sound to focus on. He feels bad listening in on their conversation, but it was either them or the teacher’s lounge across the hall.

“Did you see the news?” the clinic aid asks, her rough voice like sandpaper in Peter’s ears.

“The crazy octopus man in Manhattan?” The secretary shakes her head. “Those crazies, they’re always in Manhattan.”

A cool sensation, like ice water being poured down the back of his shirt, causes Peter to sit up. There couldn’t be an octopus man, he apprehended Octavius a week ago.

He sighs and digs through his bookbag to find his suit. He can pry his way out of the window, he decides, responsibility is calling no matter how sick he feels.

The villains don’t wait until he’s feeling well.

* * *

His isn’t fully completing any of his swings, every joint aching. He ignores the way he almost runs into a building, trying to make it to midtown Manhattan before it’s too late.

Peter hears bits and pieces of conversation as he swings by, all muddled together.

He can hear the distinct whir of Doc Ock’s machinery in the distance, and there the man is when he turns the corner. He puts on a strong face, trying to be his quippy, normal self.

“Spider-Man! How nice of you to join me!”

“Let’s cut the conversation, Doc Ock. I’m not feeling well today.” He throws a punch, which is easily blocked.

“Obviously. This doesn’t seem like a fair fight.”

“Hardy-har,” Peter sighs, trying to land any sort of blow but failing, “I could beat you with my hands tied behind my back.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“If it was, you’d have to tie _all_ of your hands behind your back.”

Doc Ock glares, sending one of his arms toward Peter, who easily catches it and crushes it.

“Ooh, looks like I’ve done the handicapping for you!” The two of them continue their tango until they are interrupted by what looks to be a tourist in the street.

“Spider-Man!” they excitedly yell. Peter’s head whips in their direction, his spider sense too blurry to tell him to dodge the next hit.

He’s jerked by the mechanical arm, and it takes a moment to notice that it had gone _through_ him. Something warm and sticky drips down his suit as he starts to feel a dull throbbing in his middle. 

His pain slowly grows in intensity. The last thing he hears is Doc Ock’s shrill laugh, and the last thing he remembers is being tossed into the concrete.

* * *

The first thing Peter hears when he wakes up is the steady beeping on a monitor. There is lots of humming around him, different machines clicking.

The first thing he feels is the soft mattress under his back. A sheet lays over him, too, but it is thicker than the one in the clinic. It’s warm and heavy, just like he likes.

The first thing he smells is the sharp scent of antiseptic. It’s very strong, so Peter decides he must be in the MedBay.

He smacks his lips and the first thing he tastes is the iron. Copper, like a penny, and bitter.

When he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is Tony’s relieved face.

“Peter,” he breathes, and lets go of the hand Peter didn’t even realize that he was holding in order to press a light kiss to his temple. “You really scared me there, bud.”

“It’s what I’m best at,” he smiles. “So, uh,” Peter swallows, “what happened?”

“There was the fight with… what do you call him? Doc Ock?”

Eyes closed, Peter nods as the memories come rushing back to him. “Yeah. Yeah. Doc Ock. I snuck out of school.” Peter sits up. “Oh my god, did you get him?”

“Yeah, kid, we got him… Do you remember what happened at the Doc Ock fight?”

Peter considers him for a moment. “I… I got shot.” He shrinks into the sheets and turns pale.

“Because you were sick.”

“Cause I was sick,” he repeats. “Did you figure out _why_ I was sick?” 

Tony is quiet for a moment, his smile cracking through the silence. “Man, Pete, you really are a spider.”

“What do you mean?”

A chuckle escaped Tony’s lips. “I hate to break it to you... but you’re allergic to pesticide.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Peter Parker has an ethyl chloride allergy.”

“This can’t be happening,” he groans.

“Oh, but it is.” Tony smiles. “Hey FRI, add pesticide to the list of Peter repellents.”

“ _Will do, boss. I feel it is important to mention that peppermint is the only other thing on that list._ ”

Peter sighs, trying not to crack a smile. He loses that battle when Morgan comes barrelling into the room, Spider-Man plush clutched close to her chest. “Petey! Daddy told me that you got stabbed!”

Lip quirking up, Peter eyes Tony. “Yeah, that’s what he’s telling me too. I was impaled.”

“Like Olaf?”

“Yeah, Morgs, like Olaf.”

“You know what else Daddy said? He said that we’ll get to have Christmas in the hospital room! We’re gonna bring a tree and everything!”

“Really?”

“Really,” She nods. “Can I come in the bed?”

“Of course, Peanut.”

Morgan curls up under Peter’s arm.

“Watch it, Morguna,” Tony warns. If he snaps a picture, of his two kids like this, then he would deny it.

“Can we watch Olaf’s Frozen Adventure?” she asks after some time, big brown eyes begging Peter to turn on her show.

“Only if you let me sing along.” Morgan’s eyes widen, and she scrambles over to Peter, grabbing at the remote. 

“Careful, Morgan,” Tony warns a second time as he watches the two of them with a fond gaze.

Peter fumbles with the remote and is eventually able to select the short film. Morgan, jittery with excitement, reads the title cards. “Disney presents: Olaf’s Frozen Adventure!” Peter laughs and nudges her lightly with his elbow.

Her smile grows any time someone tells Olaf to wait. Mischief in her eyes, she looks at Peter. “Surprise!” she giggles.

Peter boops her on the nose. “Not yet, Morgan,” he fake scolds and playfully rolls his eyes. “We’ve gotta wait to ring in the season!”

Not that long into the short film, Morgan is softly snoring at Peter’s side. Peter smiles at her, brushing her chocolate curls out of her face. He looks up to see Tony watching him. 

“You all right, kiddo?”

Peter looks around, his eyes lingering on Morgan for a little longer than the rest of the room. “You know, Tony, when we’re together, it’s my favorite time of year.”

Tony shakes his head, wondering how he ended up with two great kids.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm excited to be on winter break! hopefully i'll get some writing in instead of sitting around the whole time
> 
> thanks for reading! comments and kudos are appreciated (:
> 
> come talk to me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/icymapletree)!


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